


a series of years

by augustbird



Category: The Eagle (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustbird/pseuds/augustbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus doesn't celebrate his birthdays any more.  Prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/202111">never meant you harm</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a series of years

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a prequel to [never meant you harm](http://emptyaddress.livejournal.com/12908.html) and I highly suggest that the original fic be read before reading this one. I was originally going to make this a single supplementary fic with both prequel and sequel stuff in it but then I decided to make them two separate fics so there's a post-fic piece also in the works. Unbeta-ed.

**seventeen**

Marcus hefts his lacrosse stick across his shoulder as he grins at Esca who is leaning on the fence post with a cigarette between his fingertips. The other boys shout their goodbyes and Marcus lifts a hand in response while Esca straightens on his approach, stubbing the cigarette out on the weathered wood.

“You mom would be furious if she knew you were still smoking.”

“Yeah well,” Esca says, pulling Marcus’s sports bag from his shoulder, “She doesn’t have to know.”

Marcus grabs at the strap of the sports bag, looking at Esca, “Oh, I sincerely doubt you volunteered to be my chauffeur for the day.”

Esca tugs the strap out of Marcus’s hand and shifts the bag to his own shoulder, shaking his head, “Please, as if. But I do enjoy doing nice things for my friends on their birthdays.”

“You spoil me,” Marcus says. Esca digs around in a side pocket of the sports bag before tossing Marcus his car keys.

“You’re not going to drive me home?”

“Don’t push it, Aquila,” Esca growls but he’s smiling.

Marcus unlocks the doors to his car and shoves his lacrosse stick into the back as Esca drops Marcus’s sports bag and his own bookbag onto the backseat. He shoves his keys into ignition and stalls for a moment, staring through the windshield as Esca slides into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” Marcus says, “Let’s go to Maine.”

Esca looks at him, “I don’t think your father would appreciate the sudden change of plans.”

“Screw him. I want to see the sun rise in Maine.”

He doesn’t want to be at the party tonight anyway—his father would use any excuse for a social gathering to impress his colleagues with his estate and the quality of the caterers he’s rich enough to hire. He’s sure that his own friends will have enough champagne and wine to entertain themselves and he doesn’t want to smile stiffly and make polite small talk with the hundreds of business associates that his father always pushes on him.

“Okay,” Esca says, “I’m only indulging you because it’s your birthday.”

Marcus grins and revs up the engine.

__________

“Ma’s pissed,” Esca tells Marcus as he walks back towards the car. They’re in a mostly empty gas station on an exit off I-95, somewhere in the middle of Maine. They’ve both been along this route multiple times during the annual Aquila lodging trips—the one time when Marcus actually makes an effort to tolerate his dad’s continuous lectures—but there’s a map in the glove compartment if they get lost.

“She’s relieved we haven’t been kidnapped, though,” Esca adds, leaning against the car next to Marcus.

“I’ll send her flowers to make up for it,” Marcus promises, “The pink lilies she likes.”

“It seems like she has new flowers from you every week.”

Marcus leans over, fingers on Esca’s jaw as he steals a closed-mouth kiss, smiling against Esca’s lips. He feels Esca grin in response, fingers threading through Marcus’s hair—and then he parts his lips, inviting Marcus in. Marcus sweeps his tongue over Esca’s lower lip and maneuvers himself to press closer.

The gasoline pump clicks and Marcus pulls away only to be trapped by the hold that Esca has on his waist. Esca drops his forehead to Marcus’s shoulder, huffing a laugh against his collarbone, “Making out against your car Marcus—this was incredibly classy.”

Marcus pats the side of Esca’s head, “Does the fact that my car is a Cadillac redeem the moment?”

“No, it just makes you a pretentious douchebag who cares too much about his car,” Esca raises his head and presses a kiss to the warm skin beneath Marcus’s ear, murmuring, “Having you here redeems the moment.”

__________

“You don’t have the key,” Esca says as Marcus stops in front of the door and starts thumbing through the assortment of keys on his keychain. The sun has set and it’s dark on the porch, with only the headlights of his car illuminating the dirt driveway and surrounding trees.

“I may have not have thought this through entirely,” Marcus admits.

Esca finishes climbing the stairs of the porch and nudges Marcus aside, dropping to kneel in front of the doorknob. He pulls out a card and two picks from his wallet.

“Let’s hope no one’s around to see us breaking into your lodge,” Esca murmurs, working his credit card into the crevice between door and frame. It takes a few minutes before Esca makes a triumphant noise and pushes the door open. He flicks the light on as Marcus goes to turn off his headlights.

“It’s been almost half a year, hasn’t it?” Marcus says as he steps into the musty room. There’s a layer of dust settled across the surface of everything and Marcus runs a finger through the thin film on the counter.

“Get some water boiling,” Esca says, “I’m gonna go change the sheets.”

Marcus wanders into the kitchen and rummages through the almost-bare cabinets for a decently sized pot. He finds a box of bowtie pasta in one of the cabinets and a corresponding unopened jar of pasta sauce in the fridge. He makes a note to unplug it when they leave.

He’s heating up some frozen vegetables in a pan when Esca seats himself at the kitchen table, picking up Marcus’s phone. “You have five missed calls,” Esca notes.

“All from my dad, no doubt,” the water finally boils and Marcus dumps in the pasta as he speaks, “He’s probably livid that I ditched—doesn’t have the chance to show off his son to all of his associates.”

Esca sets his hands on Marcus’s shoulders, pressing his forehead into the knob of spine between neck and back, “He’s proud of you, Marcus.”

Marcus watches the water bubble up around the pasta, “What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

“Think everyone would be leaving by now?”

“Ma said that she hired the caterers until midnight,” Esca’s hands drift down, settling at Marcus’s waist, “She also specifically ordered the mango chicken thing you like so much.”

“Now I feel bad for not being there. Think she’d save me some?”

“Only if you buy her flowers,” Esca grins into the back of Marcus’s neck. His voice drops, words muffled by Marcus’s shirt, “I don’t have a cake for your birthday.”

“I don’t care,” Marcus says, running a wooden spoon across the vegetables, “I’d rather be here.”

Esca leans over and pulls the spoon out of his grasp, “I’d rather be here, eating burnt peas too.” He lets Marcus go, pushing the spoon through the half-frozen, half burnt mess before picking up the entire pan and running water into it from the sink.

“You love burnt peas,” Marcus says.

“Oh sorry,” Esca sets the pan back down over the flame, “Didn’t realize this was a byproduct of your culinary genius.”

“Sorry,” Marcus concedes with a grin, “I won’t burn the pasta.”

__________

Marcus drops back onto the bed and Esca follows him, crawling up the length of his body and settling part of his weight on his torso as he licks a stripe across Marcus’s collarbone. Marcus runs his hands down Esca’s sides, and up again, knuckles grazing lightly against the skin stretched over Esca’s ribcage as he pulls the soft cotton shirt over Esca’s head. He’s barely tossed it aside before he sneezes.

Esca doesn’t move for a moment—and then he’s laughing into Marcus’s neck. “You just sneezed into my hair.”

“It’s dusty!”

“That’s the least sexy thing that’s ever happened to me.” Marcus can feel the grin that Esca’s pressing into the skin under his ear.

“I’m the most sexy thing that’s ever happened to you,” Marcus pitches his voice low and Esca laughs again—but this time he pushes himself up and kisses Marcus, pushing at his shirt until it’s bunched up. He slides his lips down, across Marcus’s jawline, a graze of teeth—and then he’s licking a slow stripe down Marcus’s chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around a nipple. Marcus pushes his hands into Esca’s hair, making an undignified sound in the depths of his throat. Esca moves to the other nipple, pushing a hand into Marcus’s shorts and stroking languidly.

“Esca,” Marcus pulls the other boy up and kisses him, licking between the parted lips, hips rising to meet Esca’s light touch. His hot breath ghosts against Esca’s cheek as he pulls away, “You have too many clothes on.”

“I could say the same for you,” Esca murmurs and proceeds to pull Marcus’s shirt off completely, rolling off him momentarily to discard his own pants and tugging at Marcus’s. It only takes a moment and then he’s back to open-mouthed kisses, hips moving in stuttering little circles pressed against the crook of Marcus’s thigh, smearing pre-come all over his skin. Marcus pushes up against him, rubbing his own cock against heated skin, eager for friction.

“Marcus,” Esca says, hot against his ear, “Can I? Or do you want to?”

Marcus’s fingers are pressed into Esca’s sides, moving up and down mindlessly, tracing the outline of ribs—and he shudders as Esca grinds down on him, momentarily forgetting the question. Esca brushes a thumb over his nipple, sucks a path along his neck and murmurs, “Focus.”

“You, please,” the words ride out on a groan. Esca reaches over into the nightstand and pulls out a tube, sliding it into Marcus’s hand before moving down, butterfly kisses across the tight skin of his stomach and sits back between Marcus’s spread legs.

“I want to see you prep yourself,” Esca has a hand on his own cock, moving slowly as he watches Marcus. Marcus is frustrated at the loss of heat but he flicks open the lube and applies a liberal coat to his fingers before reaching down and pressing into himself. One finger at first—hyperaware of the way that Esca is watching his every movement, the way that his finger disappears into the hole—and then he adds a second, curling it. His breath comes in on a sharp gasp, hips rolling up—and Esca is suddenly on him, lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, collecting the pre-come there with a clever swipe of his tongue. His fingers are stroking the inside of Marcus’s thigh even as Marcus slides fingers into himself, breath fluttering against Marcus’s arm.

“Esca,” Marcus groans, hips rising as he pushes fingers into himself, “Esca, please. Please I need—“ Esca sucks lightly, not enough pressure, and Marcus’s entire body is a taut string thrumming with tension. Even with his fingers in himself he feels empty, needs Esca to fill him up. He’s too far gone in the sensations to be embarrassed by the broken whine of his voice, the way that he’s pleading Esca’s name over and over.

Esca takes hold of Marcus’s wrist, presses his own cock into Marcus’s hand and Marcus closes his hand around it, slicking it with the lube he still has on his fingers—and then Esca’s positioning himself pressing, feeding Marcus inch by inch, a slow slide that allows Marcus to adjust. He leans down and kisses Marcus who gasps into his mouth, fingers pressing bruises against Esca’s shoulderblades.

“Please,” Marcus breathes and they start to build up a rhythm, Marcus meeting him on every thrust, head tilted back and panting. It’s like a slow burn of pleasure that pools at the base of his spin, sparks along the nerves of his legs and crawls slowly up his torso, washing over him in ever increasing increments as Esca presses into him again and again until it’s just too much, until he’s reduced to a bundle of oversensitized nerves pushed over the edge and he lets the pleasure consume him.

Esca pushes into him another few times—and then he’s coming too on a low keen of Marcus’s name, forehead pressed into Marcus’s shoulder, skin settling against skin despite the mess on Marcus’s stomach. They stay like that for another minute before Esca makes an effort to get up.

“Adequate birthday sex?”

Marcus grins, “We might have to try that again.”

__________

They’re almost at the New Hampshire border when Marcus says, “I’m thinking about going to officer candidate school after college.”

Esca looks at him.

“I don’t care what my dad thinks,” Marcus says, “I agreed to go to his college. Isn’t that enough? I want to do this.”

Esca turns his eyes to the road.

“You don’t like it.”

“I don’t like anything that puts you into danger.”

Marcus doesn’t know what to say to that so he keeps his eyes on the road too.

“This isn’t the best time to join the military,” Esca says.

“A lot can happen in four years,” Marcus replies, “Maybe the war will be over by then and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“You don’t want the war to be over in four years.”

“Why do you say that? Of course I’m all for peace.”

Esca looks out the passenger side window, “Marcus, there are other honorable careers too. Just because your grandfather—”

“Stop,” Marcus says, “This isn’t about my father. This isn’t about my grandfather. This is about me—and I’m really starting to get pissed that you’d just assume that everything has to be about comparing myself against other people.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing though?” Esca asks and he sounds irritated. Marcus flicks the turn signal with more force than necessary and pulls over to the side of the road.

“You’re not predestined to do anything, Marcus,” Esca says softly, “You don’t have to become an officer because it’s what your family did.”

“It’s not for that reason,” Marcus says, knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“Fine,” Esca says, “Maybe I’m just being selfish. Maybe I don’t want you to go overseas.”

“I thought—” Marcus says, and then he swallows, “No, it’s stupid, never mind.”

“You thought what, Marcus?”

“I thought that maybe you’d come with me.”

Esca laughs, but it’s a bitter sound, “I wasn’t aware that Don’t Ask Don’t Tell had been repealed.”

“I don’t know,” Marcus says, “I want to do this but I want to be with you too. What am I supposed to do?”

Esca actually looks at him at that and then he’s drawing in on himself, shoulders hunching, “Marcus. How long do you think this thing is actually going to last?”

Marcus feels his insides seize up, suddenly unable to breathe—no, this couldn’t be happening, no no.

“You’re an Aquila,” Esca says and his voice has gone flat, “I know that you don’t really like to think about it but your father owns a Fortune 500 company. I’m the son of your household servant. You think you love me but it’s only because I’m the only person you’ve known. When you go to college, and then in the real world—when you meet the right person for you, someone who you can take when you’re stationed overseas—“

“Shut up.”

“—someone you can start a family with, you’ll look back on this and you’ll just remember it—”

“Shut up, Esca.”

“—as a curious period in your life—”

Marcus doesn’t mean to, but he punches Esca across the jaw. The car is too small for the blow to have any real impact but Esca still looks stunned.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus says, immediately fisting his hands around the steering wheel, “Esca, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Esca raises a hand to touch at the reddening skin of his jaw. Marcus keeps his eyes on the weeds growing along the side of the road, too ashamed to look at Esca. Esca doesn’t look at Marcus either.

“You should keep driving,” Esca says eventually.

“Why did you say those things?” Marcus is still staring straight ahead.

It takes a while for Esca to answer. “Because even though you don’t believe them now, I think I know better than you how the real world works.”

“You’re not in my head,” Marcus says, “You can’t tell me how I feel.”

Esca doesn’t answer.

“Maybe I’m more invested in this relationship than you are. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Esca doesn’t even look at him.

Marcus turns the key in the ignition, and pulls out onto the road.

  


__________

**eighteen**

Somebody knocks on his door before stepping into his room, “Hey man, a little birdie told me that it was your birthday today.”

Marcus looks up from his macroeconomics textbook. Steve, his roommate, is kicking through a pile of his own clothes near the door with a cupcake on a paper plate.

“Christina told you it was my birthday,” Marcus concludes, “Girl can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“All the better to stick a dick in,” Steve agrees, “They were having a bake sale on College Green so I bought you a cupcake. Who’s the best roommate in the world?”

“Thanks Steve.”

Steve sets the cupcake down on top of his textbook and hops up onto the desk, “What the hell are you doing here studying? You should be out! I know the girls down the hall are celebrating the fact that you’re no longer jailbait.”

“I have a midterm on Thursday.”

“That’s like, an entire two days away. You don’t have a fake, do you? I know this guy, he makes some excellent fakes and he’s pretty cheap too.”

“I don’t have a fake, but I do need to study.”

“Marcus, you study way too fucking much,” Steve hops back down onto the ground, “But alright man, I respect your decision. I’m gonna go celebrate with the girls.”

“Thanks for the cupcake,” Marcus says.

“Later,” Steve calls back.

Marcus is moving the cupcake away from his book when his phone rings. He glances at it: unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Marcus?”

Marcus’s heart skips a beat and he stands up to close the door, “Esca.”

“Hey.” Marcus thinks that Esca is smiling. “Happy birthday.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“Yeah,” Esca says, “I’m uh. Not very good at calling.”

“Last time you hung up on me.”

“I know, sorry. I had to make a really quick exit. I was just, uh, somewhere I shouldn’t have been.”

“Where are you?”

“Turin. It’s in Italy.”

“You weren’t kidding about your freelance photography job.”

Esca laughs, “Yeah, no.”

“Are you going to be back in the states? I haven’t seen you since—it’s been almost half a year, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back in the states. The job—it kind of just takes me wherever they want me to go.”

“I—” and Marcus doesn’t know how to conclude that statement because _miss you_ isn’t right, and he can’t imagine himself ever saying _still love you_ like it’s that easy. Marcus clears his throat, “I hope you’re doing well.”

“I’m doing pretty well,” Esca says, “How’s college?”

“It’s okay. I have a midterm in two days.”

“Oh, I should let you study for that.”

“No!” Marcus says, and feels embarrassed for sounding so desperate when Esca had clearly gotten over him, “I mean, I don’t get to talk to you that often. The studying can wait. Where are you going next?”

“Not really sure, but I think it might be somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

“I’m kind of jealous,” Marcus says, “You get to travel all around the world while I’m here stuck on the east coast for all of my life.”

“Maybe I should start sending you souvenirs.”

“Rubbing it in?”

Esca laughs quietly, “What other reason? Though I’m sure you’ll be traveling soon enough.”

Marcus leans against the windowsill, looking out over the courtyard below his room. It’s probably late in Italy.

“Esca,” he starts, “I didn’t get the chance last time to say this but I’m really sorry. About what happened.”

Esca is silent so Marcus presses on, “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you right now but if you’re ever ready to come back, I’ll be here.”

“I know.”

“I really miss her.”

“Me too.”

“I miss you.” Marcus doesn’t know what possesses him to say it and he wants to take it back as soon as it leaves his lips.

Esca’s voice is soft and Marcus barely catches his reply, “Me too.”

  


__________

**twenty-one**

The boy who wants to take him home has a lithe figure and black hair—but there’s something in the way that he looks at Marcus that reminds him a bit of Esca, in the way that his back is always straight, in the way that he smiles. He lets the guy flirt with him, buys him a drink or two and doesn’t remember his name by the time the guy leans in and asks him where he lives. He doesn’t know where the friends he came with are, has pounded back the requisite twenty-one shots over the course of the entire night and right now he just doesn’t give a flying fuck. He’s stumbling over his words a little, making up stupid lies to impress the other guy who smiles at him like Esca used to and they’re outside and Marcus has a brief moment of panic because other people can see him with a guy and he’s shipping out to OCS in less than two months and there was a rule against that, wasn’t there?

But then they’re inside and it’s not Marcus’s room but there’s a bed and the boy pulls him down, and he’s kissing Marcus and Marcus suddenly doesn’t want to kiss this boy any more which is stupid because it’s a warm body for him to shove his dick into for a night and he doesn’t even have to remember the guy’s name. He starts sucking on Marcus’s jaw and Marcus thinks that this is stupid, why does he care so much—but he pulls himself away and gets off the bed with his shirt half undone and the other guy looks at him, what’s wrong and Marcus is fumbling, trying to button up his shirt and all he can say is I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry until he’s out the door with the night air hitting his face. He wants to go home but he’s not sure where he is, he wants to curl up into a ball and go to sleep forever but he can’t on the side of the street because then he’d be too much like a hobo so maybe he could go into one of the highrises and sleep there.

His phone rings. Marcus mashes some buttons on the tiny keypad and somehow that answers it so he says hello and—

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to pick up. I was going to leave a message.”

It’s Esca and wow what a coincidence, he had just been thinking about Esca even though he hadn’t really been thinking about him because Marcus did a great job of not thinking about Esca in general—mostly because if he thought about Esca too much, he was pretty sure that he was going to get really depressed. Jesus Christ, he had never believed in any of those stupid movies or those stupid books that said that when the person you truly love doesn’t love you back, it felt like a piece of you was missing and it’s stupid but Marcus feels like that, every fucking day. He doesn’t subscribe to that chick flick shit but he knows how he feels and some days it’s so fucking hard to drag himself out of bed because the loss just fucking chokes him, feels like someone cut his chest open and scraped his heart clean out, leaving him bleeding and raw. And wasn’t that stupid because it’s been four years and there are a million people here at college who want to meet him and be his friend but he doesn’t care at all, he hasn’t been happy in four years and that’s a fucking terrifying thought because how the fuck could his entire life just revolve around one person?

Oh shit, he’s fucking crying. Great, standing on the side of the street of who-the-fuck knew where, crying his eyes out like a little bitch and what the fuck would his dad think of him now, fucking wallowing in his own pity.

“Marcus, where are you?”

Somewhere on campus. Pennsylvania. Earth. Who the fuck gave a shit.

“Stay there.”

Marcus doesn’t know what good that would do him but he seats himself on the curb and curls his arms over his knees, puts his head down and tries not to fall asleep. He obviously doesn’t do a good job of not falling asleep because the next thing he knows, someone puts a hand on his shoulder and there’s a lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach like he’s about to puke everywhere—and the next thing he knows, he’s puking all over the living room floor of his apartment. That’s weird, his dreams usually don’t involve puking—they tend to be more masochistic and involve Esca in various states of undress but he doesn’t tell anyone that because dreaming about your ex is kind of pathetic. He hears a laugh—and yeah that’s more along the lines of his dreams because Esca is holding him up by a shoulder and he’s looking at Marcus and his eyes are kind of red—does that mean they get to smoke weed in this dream?

Esca shakes his head and hauls Marcus into his bedroom. Marcus feels a lot better when he sees his bed and he doesn’t need to be told to crawl in because he just wants to sleep. He looks over at Esca who has his arms crossed—isn’t he going to get in?—and Esca shakes his head—that’s stupid, usually in his dreams Esca likes to fuck with him—or if Marcus is lucky, actually fuck him.

And then Esca looks sad and that’s no good—Marcus nearly trips over a stack of textbooks when he gets off the bed and tries to get to Esca but Esca grabs him—whoa that’s trippy, he doesn’t remember Esca being able to move that fast—but at least he has a hold of Esca and he drags him towards the bed. He touches Esca’s face, touches his temple, his cheek, his lips, and he just wants Esca to sleep here, to guard him against nightmares, please. And when he lays down, he feels the bed dip down next to him and Esca is above him, cupping his face and he’s brushing his lips against Marcus’s cheek and he’s saying things like Marcus I promise, I promise and Marcus doesn’t know what he’s promising but he falls asleep to Esca’s breathing and it’s the happiest he’s been in years.

When Marcus wakes up, he vomits into the toilet and doesn’t remember a thing.

  


__________

**twenty-five**

“I have a present for you,” Nick announces.

“Unless it’s a new turret that won’t jam, I’m not sure I’d want it,” Marcus says, not looking up from the paperwork he’s been filling out for the last thirty minutes.

“XO gave you paperwork for your birthday? You lucky bastard.”

“My favorite,” Marcus agrees, “You’re jealous.”

“Fuck yeah I am,” Nick says, “That’s why I’m taking over here for the rest of the day. Go take the rest of the day off, captain.”

Marcus looks up.

“My present,” Nick clarifies.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I promise to make everything legible and actually write accurate reports,” Nick swears, holding three fingers up. Marcus looks at them, then back at Nick’s face.

“You were never a boy scout.”

“Aquila, just get the hell out of here,” Nick says, rolling his eyes, “Mail’s in today.”

Marcus hesitates for a moment.

“I know you’ve been waiting for mail from your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever, just go,” Nick snatches up the pen that Marcus drops and Marcus wavers before getting up out of the seat.

“Go, have a nice jack-off session or something.”

“I better not come back to find you’ve written amateur erotica all over these reports,” Marcus warns, and then, “Thanks Nick.”

“Yeah yeah,” Nick waves him out and he heads to the distribution truck.

The courier smiles at him when Marcus approaches, “Hi Captain. Glad you found me—I wasn’t sure where you were. Got a postcard for you.”

He hands over a card with no return address, just his own name and address in Esca’s spiky lettering. He flips it over.

Boston.  



End file.
